Bats of the Republic

by Zachary Thomas Dodson

  Henry Bartle had snuck up on him again. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ He made a motion for Zeke to follow him, and the effects of the laudanum lifted from Zeke’s head. Zeke in turn made the hand signal for Raisin to wait, and Raisin nodded. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ He followed Bartle, careful to keep twenty paces behind him. Their path snaked through the muddied streets until Bartle abruptly grabbed the toeholds in the side of a lit watchpost and began to climb. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ Zeke hesitated on the ground. Bartle waved him up. ∧∧ ∧∧ Zeke slid his boots into the small metal toeholds at the base of the watchpost. He carefully and purposefully placed one hand after another. Trying not to look down, he stopped as he passed a broadsheet. It gave notice that subversive hand signals were now punishable by imprisonment. Zeke kept climbing, all the way up the giant metal trunk. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ Bartle grabbed his collar and pulled him up the last few steps. It felt much better to have his feet planted firmly on the phosphor-lit platform at the top. ∧∧ ∧∧ “Are you drunk?” Bartle asked, then motioned for Zeke to hold his answer. Bartle switched off the large typowriter, the central feature of the watchpost station. There were a few chairs, some binoculars, and Republic-issued blankets. The wind blew stern and steady. Zeke stood on the edge of the platform. He let his natural laud-swaying scare him a bit. It was too dark to see the plankway below. The fall would be long. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ Bartle looked out from the watchpost along the handwheel lines, making sure they were in the center of a dead zone. He took off his glasses, cleaned them on his shirttail, and looked again. He then uncapped every phonotube in the watchpost, listening to each for a moment or two. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ Before the letter, Zeke hadn’t been bothered by the recording. It seemed like they couldn’t listen much anyway. He didn’t do anything illegal except laudanum, which he hid well. Now he felt differently. He looked at Bartle. He imagined a lifetime of paranoia. He began to write in the dust on the panel. ∧∧ Fight or flight or dream: How can I be free? ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ Bartle coughed to get his attention. “I think we’re OK to talk. Good job following me up here. You shouldn’t be in this state right now.” ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ “I’m fine.” ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ “I worked hard to clear this watchpost. It’s the one place I can guarantee we won’t be recorded. Stealth repeaters run underground.” ∧∧ ∧∧ “Have you found the letter?” ∧∧ ∧∧ “The record was wrong. I’ve scoured the Vault. I designed it, so believe me when I say I know every latch and drawer. It isn’t there.” ∧∧ ∧∧ Zeke sat down. He put his head in his hands. Bartle touched his shoulder. Zeke swayed. ∧∧ “What would you do with it if we found it?” Zeke mumbled into his hands. ∧∧ ∧∧ “I’d open it, of course. See what’s inside.” Bartle sounded nervous. “And then we’d decide about turning it in.” ∧∧ “What if my grandfather didn’t want it to be opened?” ∧∧ “Well, then, he…it sounds as though you have talked to your grandmother.” ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ Zeke was silent. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ “OK, on the level,” Bartle said. “I imagine the Senator didn’t want to open it. Your family always had secret documents. Your grandfather denied it, of course. He had to. And besides, if it was known that there were documents that the Vault couldn’t secure, it would’ve been an embarrassment.” He took his glasses off and fidgeted with the hinge. “I’m sorry for this, Zeke. But we must be sure of your blood. I know it must be hard. I…I was in your files, looking after Eliza last month. When I saw the missing letter, I reported it.” ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ Zeke’s head swam. He tried to focus on Bartle. His trust wavered. He felt confused. “My grandfather never talked about the letter.” ∧∧ “Yes, well, we all have secrets.” ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ “I miss him.” ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ “I am going to make this right. For you, for Eliza. I have found a few of the missing documents on my own. A book here, in the Texas Vault, was my first clue about the importance of what’s missing. Zeke, this letter your grandfather left you—there’s a reason he didn’t turn it in. There’s a reason your grandmother didn’t choose Bic to be Khrysalis. I want to know that reason.” ∧∧ ∧∧ “So does Daxon, apparently.” ∧∧ “He could be hiding it very carefully, or…maybe they don’t have it.” ∧∧ ∧∧ “You said they did.” ∧∧ ∧∧ “I put too much trust in the records.” ∧∧ ∧∧ “Daxon’s cannon has gone missing. He’s apparently losing his mind. They built this big machined—” ∧∧ “I know. I mean, about the cannon. I don’t think it was ever actually missing.” Bartle looked around again, checking every direction. He picked up two of the gray blankets and handed one to Zeke. They huddled under them. ∧∧ “Daxon wants to get rid of the Auspicium and dismantle the Senate. Those are his enemies. Not the Deserters. He doesn’t even take them seriously. The letter has something he needs, some key to power we can’t let him have. I will find it. The safest option may be for you to leave. You and Eliza. Where is she?” ∧∧ “She’s at Leeya’s.” ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ “No, she’s not. That was the first place I looked. I’ve been tracking her for weeks, to make sure we didn’t have a run-in. I turn my back for one minute—” ∧∧ “Leeya’s alone?” ∧∧ “Yes, she’s gone down into the tunnels.” ∧∧ “What tunnels?” ∧∧ ∧∧ “There are passages beneath the city-state. The Auspicium is underground. Near the source of the fount-water. It was a surprise to me too. I just read all these files about them.” ∧∧ ∧∧ “I thought the Auspices were harmless old women stirring their mixture pots.” ∧∧ “They are powerful. And in danger. The last thing we want is Eliza ending up down there as well.” ∧∧ “I…I told her you were here.” ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ Bartle was silent for a long moment. Zeke thought he might be blinking back tears again, but it was too dark to see. ∧∧ “She wants to see you.” Zeke pulled his blanket tighter around himself. ∧∧ ∧∧ “There’s one place I wasn’t able to check: Daxon’s office,” Bartle went on. “It’s risky, but that’s where we’ve got to look next. I’ll figure out a way to break in.” ∧∧ ∧∧ “If you’re caught, how will I find the letter? I only have four days left until they can arrest me for it. We’ll both end up in jail, and what will happen to Eliza then?” This silenced Bartle again.

  ∧∧ ∧∧ “If you’re going to do something rash, you should at least try to see her first. I think you owe her that much.” ∧∧ Bartle put his hand on Zeke’s shoulder. “I’m trying to make everything right first. I know she needs to see me. I need to see her too.” ∧∧ He motioned for quiet, and switched the typowriter back on. He folded the blankets carefully and put them back in place. ∧∧ ∧∧ “You go first, I’ll follow after a while,” Bartle said. He motioned down the ladder. ∧∧ It felt twice as long on the descent. Zeke’s hands were cold, his knuckles bloodless. The wind bit at his ears. ∧∧ ∧∧ Once on the ground he hurried back to the spot where he had left Raisin. His friend was asleep, slumped on the wooden plankways by an industrial building. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ Zeke shook him awake. “Come on, we have to go back to my unit.” ∧

  Leeya,

  I don’t know how to begin. On one hand, I am so happy for you. I know you will be the best mother. Your warmth and kindness will never abandon your child’s life. I just cannot believe that it has happened in this way. I do not blame you for keeping it from me. We both know that this is not what we had envisioned for our future. No twin babies in the Twin-City for us now. No warm days in the nature replicas of that city-state, walking w/ our kids among the trees.

  It is so difficult to imagine something other than what we have planned—something other than what they have planned for us. You are in enough jeopardy, wandering off the path of the lifephases, but there are other dangers you need to know about. Last night I visited the morgue. The pregnant girls have been punctured through the heart, as if to drain them. It’s sick. It makes me all the more determined to solve this thread—whether or not I work at the Vault. I wish I could come see you—I desperately want to but I can’t. There is something I must do first. This note will have to do for n
ow.

  I’ve been keeping an eye on Zeke’s transcripts. I can’t stay away from the Vault. Zeke is not doing a very good job of staying out of the dead zones. He and Raisin have been out drinking a lot. Raisin only talks about the Deserters. It is clear he has joined them. I wish Raisin could be a real father to your child. A present one. If only he had learned something from the mess he made by bringing you to Texas early.

  That Zeke would even entertain the notion of fleeing the city-state breaks my heart. It would break his grandmother’s heart as well.

  Something else happened /////// My father is here, in Texas.

  My heart is permanently in my throat. He left me, hasn’t communicated with me my whole life, but now he’ll talk to Zeke? What could I have possibly done to him back then? I was a child.

  I don’t think I could even ask him that. I’ve decided not to look for him. He should come to me. He’s the one that left. It proves his cowardice, that he would come to Texas and still avoid me.

  On the way to the Vault this morning, I looked at every face on the plankways, searching for features I’d recognize. It was dusty out and I was tempted to yank down some hand-kerchiefs. In every pair of eyes I thought I saw my father, for just a moment.

  Zeke sent him to search for the letter in the Vault. Nothing could be more dangerous. What if he’s caught, arrested, or thrown out of the city-state before he contacts me? The Vault is an endless loop. To keep the Law away from Zeke, I doctored some records to make it appear the letter had been turned in. I created a maze of misfiles and paperwork. It would take even the most skilled Filer days to find that the letter is not actually there.

  Each thing I do seems to make it all worse. I still couldn’t bring myself to tell Zeke I took the letter. I should have trusted him.

  I wish there was a way to expose Daxon. If I were able, the Senate could arrest and try him. Everyone would despise him—there would be a way out of all of this—everything could be different. I am going to do my best to make this happen.

  Your life is at risk. You have to keep yourself—and your baby—out of harm’s way. There is a murderer out there, armed to the teeth. I have a few important things for you to know:

  * If you’re in danger, the Auspices are safer than Daxon at this point. I know I have been skeptical before but that is the safest place now. Just don’t join them. They recruit girls at vulnerable times. Do not eat or drink anything they give you—it will change the chemical composition of your body.

  * On Daxon’s list of murder scapegoats, I found mention of a man underground, a Nighthaul, (I’d never heard that title before). Raisin talks about him in the transcripts. He somehow has access to the rot, or animals. He seems to appear all over the city-state at will, especially if there’s been a murder. He gives me a creepy feeling. Please beware.

  * I have stashed handwheels on your roof. If someone breaks in, you can use them to escape. There is a semaphore line leading off your roof. Just go slowly and watch your landing:

  Don’t go out at night. If you find yourself in danger, follow my instructions. I do not know what I will do once my task is complete. This could be our last communication. It is impossible to grasp that idea—let alone that reality.

  /////// This will all be over soon ///////

  I love you like a sister,

  ELIZA

  24/9/43

  SOUTHWESTERN DESERT

  Dearest Elswyth,

  All is lost. I woke in a white sand desert, sunburnt and without any sense of which way the compass points. I’m not sure of the date, but I do know that I will not return to Chicago by the deadline in your telegram. Though hope is lost, I do not know what else to do but write, so that you might at least know what became of me. The bundle of letters I carry now are my only talisman against utter loneliness.

  I have wandered, not knowing my direction nor even my intent. It was a zone of death. Finally the white sands ceased and plants appeared again, and I began to wonder if I had imagined the alien landscape altogether. My sunburnt skin provided evidence to the contrary. It is painful to lie down and nearly impossible to sleep.

  I am far from the road, but several times during the nocturnal hours, when my eyes were wide and no sound broke the stillness except the blowing of wind, I imagined I heard wagons in the distance, like the uncanny creaking of ghostly ships. A hunger dream—I imagined it was Irion’s supply chain. The cries of the men were punctuated by the cracking of whips, the clatter of hooves and wagon wheels. The sky was lit by a full moon and a host of stars, but I only saw gray silhouettes moving in the night. Animals, riders, whole caravans that flew from my eye when I tried to view them dead-on.

  When dawn broke and the crying of the coyotes ceased, I was exhausted. I built a shelter against the sun with my blanket and some straight branches from a desert plant that has no name I know of. During the day and much of the night I vacillated between sleep and waking, trying to rest my cracking mind. The sun is large and vibrates heat without ceasing. There was no shade in the white sand dunes, and the condition of my skin worsens.

  Midday there was a severe storm of wind and dust. It blew up suddenly, and the air around me dropped in temperature. It was not accompanied by rain, which would have been welcome, and was very unpleasant indeed. At a distance these duststorms look like violent clouds and indeed carry with them thunder and lightning. I pulled my blanket tightly around me, though it made my red skin scream. Even so, after twenty minutes my person and all my effects besides were covered thoroughly in dust and thorny brush.

  I have few eggs left. I greatly desire water, but no pool or river has appeared for many days now. I have one canteen with a ration of only a few days. How relieved my skin would be if I could wash it in cool water. It was with this purpose that I ventured forth as the sun set, and it was then that I made my first true discovery.

  I left the flatter land and made toward the mountains in the distance, thinking they might hide streams of runoff or secret pools. It was just as the sun set, a red sliver into the mesa, that I saw it.

  At first, I thought it was smoke. There was a single tree out in the desert and I nervously climbed it to afford myself a better view.

  Up top, the wind whipping about me, I still could not discern the source of this great black cloud looming on the horizon, the size of which might indicate a wagon train or perhaps a shack completely aflame. It was rising quickly, throwing a dark mass against the sky, interwoven with gold and pink by the setting of the sun.

  I worked my way through the brush and the rocks slowly, fearing some marauding creature or Indian attack. The light was failing and, against the clouds gone dark, I began to worry that it was another one of my imagined silhouettes born of an overtired mind. Almost in answer to my thoughts, it shifted and became dark, so full of menace and purpose that it could not be anything I had dreamt.

  When finally I crested the hill that blocked its source, I was close enough to see the bats. I couldn’t estimate the number, but it must have been hundreds upon thousands. They turned over one another and tumbled through the sky as if they were being twisted up in a tornado of their own making.

  Their sound was that of burbling water rushing over smooth stones. I stood still, listening to them throb against the dusk, until the wind, or perhaps the bats themselves, shifted direction quite rapidly and began to stream over my uncovered head. I crouched and looked up, and at once was in their great dark cloud, their wings pushing the air about me. My heart beat against the inside of my chest, as though one of these wild scraps of night sky were also trapped inside me.

  I knew it immediately: Here were the flying creatures that Aunt Anne augured. They had come to show me the way home. I followed.

  The whole sky was blacked out. If I could have guessed how many passed by in a second, I could have figured the number in the flock, but they moved too erratically for any estimate to feel certain.

  Presently their flow shifted to the east, and I crawled forward over the ledge to
find myself staring into the gaping maw of a cave. It was a great crack in the face of the earth, black and wide, and the bats boiled forth without ceasing. I wouldn’t have guessed one could be so large.

  Though it seemed a fearsome thought, what might have been hiding in the darkness of this massive hole, I had to stay. I knew that any room that could house such a great storm of bats must be the entrance to a cavern of immense size. I scraped along on my belly through the sagebrush until I came to the edge of the cavern. Looking down into the dark, I saw that there was no end in sight. The destined feeling of doom it gave me lingers still.

  Retreating, I quickly gathered some dead prickly pear and built a small fire just near the edge. The plants were green and about as good for fire as wet tea leaves, but I managed to ignite them. When they were all aflame, I pierced one of the fiery pads with a stalk and flung it down into the hole. I bent carefully over and watched it fall until at last the flame disappeared. A few sparks finally flared against a wall of rock, a hundred yards down if I make my guess.